The Death of Morality
by StaleCoffee
Summary: I didn't enjoy how Ginger Snaps ended, so this is me giving the story a little spin. First off, I'm keeping Ginger and Sam alive. BrigitteSam.
1. Decision

Disclaimer: I do not own Ginger Snaps or anything related to it. I wished I owned Kris Lemche though...damn my luck.

A/N: I wasn't a very big fan of how Ginger Snaps ended (Sam and Ginger DEAD?! Who came up with that anti-climatic piece of crap?) So I've decided to twist it into something a little different. If I like how this goes this will be more than a one-shot. Brigitte/Sam.

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"I can't! I won't!" Brigitte yelled, Sam's blood still dripping off her chin. The walls of the damp basement reverberated her words, and Ginger lifted her bloody muzzle, growling threateningly at her sister's refusal.

She backed away from her the thing that she used to consider her sister and Sam's bleeding body. She wasn't a monster, she couldn't kill another human being, especially one she had began to consider a friend. Ginger advanced slowly across the wooden floor, her limbs moving with deadly determination, and Brigitte gripped the syringe tightly. She wasn't going to die here, she repeated to herself, she couldn't. Their were still too many people she needed to save. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and Ginger moved towards her.

Brigitte turned, the soles of her boots scratching the floor, as she left Ginger in her wake. She cursed herself for leaving Sam behind and for the pain searing in her lower back as she leaped up the stairs, pictures crashing around her as she fell violently into walls on her way up. Her sister let out an insane howl from close behind her, so shrill it pierced Brigitte's ears like chalk on a chalkboard as she reached the last stair.

Brigitte fell to her knees, dropping the syringe suddenly and fastening her hands to her ears, shrieking in pain. Lucky for her, however, as she collapsed, Ginger had picked her moment to make her kill. She soared over Brigitte, glass shattering around them both as she flew out the nearby window, yelping as she descended. Brigitte, screaming "Ginger!" at the top of her lungs, unable to take any more pain, felt a calm blackness take over her, and she passed out.

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_She was crawling towards Sam in the basement, her eyes matching the color of his blood, her long, sharp nails scratching the wooden floor up like a hamster with cardboard. Ginger eyed her warily and she bent her head down, lapping up Sam's blood, as an attempt to prevent Ginger catching wind of her plan to grab her off guard and stab her with the syringe. _

_But the moment her lips touched his blood, a new feeling surpassed her fear and worry...hunger, a bloodthirsty hunger ached through her and she found herself gulping his blood down like lemonade on a hot day. She thought at one point he whispered her name desperately, but she ignored it, growing wild with every lap of her tongue, Ginger egging her on. She began to tear into his skin, ripping it from his bones, focused entirely on the taste of him, because he tasted oh-so-good, and she believed she could go on forever, gnawing on him until hell froze over. How could she have ever thought what Ginger's murders were horrible? Her killing Sam was the most pleasurable, satisfying, fucking-amazing feeling she had ever experienced._

_Ripping..._

_Tearing..._

_Tasting..._

_She felt a change sweep through and she doubled over, her skin feeling as though two people had grabbed hold of each side and pulled with all of her might, her brain hurt with a splitting ache, and her spine seemed to be tearing into two. She welcomed it however, and moaned, mixing her pleasure with the pain, rolling in Sam's blood as Ginger tore into his face, chewing it into something undecipherable. Her body felt like molding clay and it twisted into a new, wolf-life shape. Hair spread out among her back and new muscles rippled as she the pain disappeared, and she flexed menacingly before returning to Sam, her human feelings forgotten, and all she could think of was the feeling of his skin between her sharp fangs, the warm blood on her new muzzle, and the entire feeling of her werewolf-self devouring him..._

_Devouring him..._

_Devouring him..._

_Devouring him..._

_-----_

Brigitte woke with a start, gasping for breath, her arms clenching her stomach, her body sprawled across the last couple of stairs. She shook the drowsiness from her system and clumsily got to her feet, looking out at the sun-lit window. How long had she been passed out? Why hadn't her parents found her? Was Ginger alive? Was Sam still bleeding fifteen feet away?

She rubbed her blood-shot eyes and looked out the window. Blood-streaked glass surrounded the place where Brigitte guessed she had landed, but Ginger herself was nowhere to be found. Brigitte wasn't sure whether to sigh in relief or tense in fear. Brigitte also noted that her mother's van lay vacant from the driveway. Had her mother searched for them night, ignorant that one of her daughters lay bleeding on the staircase? She didn't even want to begin thinking about her dad.

She then remembered Sam.

"Sam?!" She called as she rushed down the stairs, "Are you okay?" She bounded off the last stair and wrapping her coat around her, stared at another blood-streaked area that had been vacated.

"Oh fuck." She realized. Sam must had been infected and his injuries had healed. This was bad.

She dragged her hands down her face, her freshly sprouted claws cutting her skin. She cried out, sinking to the floor. She was slowly, but surely becoming a werewolf. She could feel the blood trickle down her thigh, and the terrible pain in her abdomen was far from letting up. How was she going to solve all of her problems when she herself was becoming one of them?

She crawled towards the staircase, pain taking over again, when she noticed the glint of the syringe on the floor. She went towards it, and grasping it into her hands as quickly as possible, plunged it into her skin. Brigitte called out in pain and lay on the floor, covered in a layer of sweat, shaking uncontrollably. She was kept in this state for a minute or so and then just lay there, the searing pain gone, staring blankly at the barren walls of the basement. Was she cured like Jason? She sure as hell felt better.

Brigitte pulled herself up, fueled with a new sense of courage. She had to bring the serum to Ginger, wherever she had to run off to. She walked comfortably up the stairs, the blood trickling down her leg the only thing reminiscent of infection. Brigitte pasted the hallway hurriedly, getting a few tampons from her mother's drawer and the ingredients for the serum, before heading out the front door in a new change of clothes. She needed help to make a new batch and to hunt down Ginger.

She needed to find Sam.


	2. Sanctuary

Disclaimer: Sue me. I DARE you. ;)

A/N: I know it isn't a very long chapter, but as odd as it seems, I just wasn't in a long chapter kinda mood...:)

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Brigitte quickly walked down the block, stopping only to ask a nearby woman what time it was. _10:30._ Ugh. School had started two hours ago. The bodies of Mr. Wayne and the janitor had to have been found by now. She was in deep shit. She should be lucky that the police hadn't arrived at her house while she was passed out right next to Sam's blood, knife close by.

At this she pulled her hoodie up and clenched the coat tightly around her. She couldn't help Ginger if she was stuck in a jail cell. As she walked, leaves cracked under her tall boots and the sounds of children playing at the nearby elementary school echoed through her ears. How had everything gotten so fucked up, Brigitte wondered, if only she had prevented Sam from getting infected and managed to stab Ginger with the syringe in time before she escaped.

She reached the school right in the middle of the time she would be in P.E. _Or smoking with Ginger when the teacher's heads were turned,_ she smirked. Brigitte made her way to the greenhouse, forcing the tears behind her eyes to stay dormant. She had to stop tearing up, she was looking like a sissy, or worse, ordinary.

She glimpsed Sam's truck, and felt relief wash over her. She didn't know where else to look for him if he hadn't been out by the greenhouse. She anxiously cracked open the door. It was as if a bomb had gone off. Streamers and smashed pumpkins decorated every inch of it from the party the night before. Their was even a few (hopefully?) passed out teenagers from the night before, puke strewn out among them. The smell of beer hung heavily in the air as she made her way past the various plants.

Brigitte reached the door and knocked twice, resting against the wall. She strained her ears for a few seconds, and then knocked again.

"I'm not selling right now, so get the fuck out."Brigitte winced.

"Sam? It's me." She heard a stirring inside the room for a couple of seconds before the he tentatively cracked the door open, hiding his face.

"Brigitte...I feel like shit." He groaned.. Brigitte caught a glimpse of a bloodshot eyeball. "Your sister is...bitch..." Brigitte smirked slightly.

"Let me in. I have monkshood." The door flew open and Sam stepped out.

His face was paler than usual and he looked about a hundred times worse than when he was on weed. His cuts had healed as he began his journey to becoming a werewolf, but his hair and shirt were soaked in dried blood. His eyes were almost completely red, and his forehead was coated in sweat. Brigitte noticed that his mattress in the corner was also covered in blood.

"Brigitte, I believe you just uttered the greatest sentence my ears will ever hear. Where is it?"

"In my backpack." She let herself in.

"So hey, did I mention thanks for leaving me on the stairs last night, all by myself while my man-eating sister runs loose around Bailey Downs?" She leaned against his desk. "I mean really, thanks a lot." Sam rolled his eyes and sat down on his mattress.

"Brigitte I don't remember a goddamn thing after you sister attempted to chew me into pieces. I blacked out seconds after you ran up the stairs, um, ditching me, and then I woke up covered in my blood about two hours ago. How I managed to drive home I will never know, but there is blood all over my car so I know somehow I did it." He put his head in his hands. "This has got to be my crappiest week ever."

Brigitte moved next to him, pulled the monkshood out of the bag, and showed it to him. He lifted his eyes only briefly and pointed to a nearby cabinet. "The alcohol and stuff is in there. Don't touch anything else." She moved towards the cabinet and began pulling out the supplies.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to distract her. It looked like any minute she was going to rip open your neck.." Sh pulled out a bowl and the alcohol and began searching for a syringe. Sam frowned.

"Where is everyone favorite lycanthrope anyway? You didn't get her with the syringe?" He grimaced and grabbed his stomach. "Fuck, I never knew how bad girls had it. This is even worse than having a hangover."

"She fell out of the window while trying to attack me. For all I know, she could have gobbled half a dozen of last night's trick-or-treaters." She found a syringe and lighter underneath a pile of dirty shirts. "Have you ever thought about cleaning, or something?"

"Have you ever thought or hurrying up? I think I feel something growing on my lower back."Sam shifted uncomfortably and Brigitte began to tear off the leaves and place them in the water, holding the lighter steadily underneath the cup.

"I have to find her. For everybody's sakes."She meant to whisper it to herself, but Sam overheard.

"Have you thought of maybe going back to your house? If she's on a violent rampage, killing your parents might be on the agenda..."

"-My parents are missing. I couldn't find them when I woke up so my guess is my Mom never returned home from yesterday. She was all ready to leave my Dad and get us out of Bailey Downs after she figured out what Ginger had done. I have no idea where she could be." She turned sway from Sam, fixating on placing the syringe in the piece of cotton she had just stuck in the cup. "I hope she's okay."

Surprisingly, Sam moved towards her, flicking a piece of dust off his shirt and pulling out a joint from behind his mangly hair.

"It's going to be okay Brigitte. We will stop Ginger and we will find your Mom. It just may take some time." He lighted up and grabbed the loaded syringe from Brigitte's hands. He held it only for a few seconds before he began to shake and drop it. He turned to Brigitte. "Your going to have to inject the stuff into me, I don't think I can hold it right in my condition."

Brigitte grabbed the syringe from the coffee-colored rug, and biting her lip, plunged it into Sam's arm. He cried out in pain and began to convulse violently. Brigitte dragged a blanket from the bed to cover him as his eyes, returning to their natural color, rolled around in his head. She placed the syringe on the table and watched helplessly as Sam passed out.

Uh-oh, she thought, at least when she did it to herself she didn't pass out...what if something had gone wrong, or his body was rejecting the poison. She mustered up her strength and pulled Sam onto his mattress, checking his temperature by placing a cool hand on his sweaty forehead. He didn't feel like he had a fever.

Realizing all he probably needed was rest while the poison took its toll, she pulled a pillow from under his bed, and leaning against the end of his bed, she began the agonizing journey to a nightmare-filled sleep.


	3. Remembrance

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: I apologize for taking so long to update, I'm not used to commitment :)

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When Brigitte woke up, light was streaming through the windows from outside. She pulled herself up, the muscles in her back creaking, and pushed the hair out from her eyes. Sam had moved himself to his bed sometime during the night, and she took that as a sign that he was feeling better. His mouth was open at a weird angle and his hair a disarray. He hadn't bothered to change, and his clothes were as wrinkly as ever.

He gave a sudden, unexpected snore and Brigitte gave the closet thing to a smile for the first time in days, before pulling on her boots and bag, bulging from the weight of her junk. She then fumbled through his drawers (which consisted mostly of numerous amounts of pot) before coming across a pair of sunglasses, ones with giant lens the covered half of her face. Brigitte glanced back at Sam for a second before placing them on and moving towards the door, gripping the door handle. She opened it gently, trying not to wake him, and closed it softly behind her.

It was a surprisingly sunny day in Bailey Downs, so she didn't look too suspicious in her glasses as she exited the Greenhouse, passing by the various plants, dew clinging desperately to their leaves. She exited the area like a normal girl asking the local doper for some pot, not the sister of a vanishing murderer. Brigitte turned the corner and caught a sudden glimpse of cop cars and students grouped around the school, murmuring insistently to each other. A newscaster was here and there, clad in fancy suits and solemnly gesturing towards the building. A couple of officers were asking students questions, she noted, and the doors to the school remained locked, even though it was well after the first bell.

_Oh crap._ They had discovered the bodies...people were probably already saying how Ginger had been in the office last. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all.

Brigitte shoved her hands into her pockets are hard as she could, and pasted by silently, heading towards the direction of her home. She though she could check if maybe her parents had returned from wherever or if Ginger had left any missed clues behind. And maybe she could find her pictures and stuff, just in case she couldn't return home for a while. It didn't seem like a good bet. She figured she could crash at Sam's until she figured out what to do. It's not like he would care and she could focus entirely on finding Ginger without parental interruption.

She walked the rest of the way to her house in quiet contemplation. It was a quiet day in Bailey Downs, and she assumed most of her chipper neighbors were just now watching the news, covering their kid's eyes from the grisly scenes of blood and gore. When something rare like this happened in Bailey Downs before that night at the playground, a younger and more innocent Ginger and Brigitte would have gathered around the screen, hoping to catch any glimpse of the horror.

She remembered a car crash a few years back, of a mother and her daughter. The newscaster had filmed brief scenes of the wreck, a smoking pile of metal and rubber. It had been close outside of the high school, and Ginger had begged their parents to let them walk down there. Then flames erupted over the screen and the newscaster jumped back, the camera jiggling as they ran from the fireball that had been the van. The next day Brigitte read that the family had died immediately from the explosion and Ginger had groaned.

"I can't believe we missed that," she had said.

Brigitte turned the corner onto her street, lost in thought, until she smelled the smoke. She looked up and saw it had collected itself into the brilliant blue sky...directly over her house. Then she heard the sirens. She turned around wildly, gaping as a large fire truck and ambulance sped past her, parking on the sidewalk next to her driveway.

Brigitte began to dash towards her home, her mind filled with fear. She could be wrong, she attempted to persuade herself, maybe it was her neighbor's house that was on fire. Her boots clicked madly on the pavement. People were gathering outside of their houses, still in their morning robes, cris-crossing their arms firmly around their chests, worried expressions clouding their faces. Brigitte slowed down as she came to stop in-front of the charred house that had been her home for so many years.

Fire-trucks blared their horns, as hoses were bring dragged from everywhere, beams of water sprouting towards the thickening flames that covered the roof. Red lights flickered off the remaining windows and Brigitte could only gawk as her room was devoured by fire. The efforts of the firemen were useless, she could tell by their grim faces. Brigitte collapsed behind a truck, sinking to her knees. The words from her mom in the van echoed painfully through her head like a banging drum, filling her with despair. Had her mother been so convinced that her daughters had deserted her that she played a last course of action before driving into the black abyss of where the fuck she had disappeared too, abandoning her family? She didn't even want to think about what had happened to her father. This was insane, she thought as the minutes trickled by, how could her mom had done something so _stupid?_

After a while had passed, and Brigitte couldn't take any more of the horrible feelings she was experiencing, she crossed the street towards the exhibit to say a final goodbye to the house she had shared with her parents and Ginger. The place where they had worked strenuously on the death tapes, the last displays of anything they had ever experienced close to ignorance. The house where Ginger had thrown her lace-trimmed cake at her mother on her eleventh birthday and Brigitte had tried to resurrect her dead turtle when she was seven. The place where she had carried her sister from the park that fateful day and gathered the monkshood not long after.

_Memories..._

Brigitte approached the caution tape carefully, secluding herself behind an empty fire truck. She peered from afar into the downstairs window, a fresh billow of smoke rising menacingly from it. A sudden rumbling echoed through the neighborhood and firefighters began yelling harsh commands at each other. Brigitte inched farther for a closer look, her feet skimming the neatly cut lawn of her house and fire burst from the windows, sparkling the sky with embers.

Fireman emerged from inside the house, running frantically from the fearsome flames engulfing the vicinity. They barely escaped when the roof caved in, and Brigitte tripped backward from the sound of the explosion, covering her ears as she hit the ground. She coughed violently, smoke filling her lungs. I was an idiot, I shouldn't have gotten so close, she scolded herself. Her knees were bruised and dirty and she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her stomach. A soot-covered firefighter heard her coughing and, quickly crouching towards her, pulled her back fiercely, twisting Brigitte's arm by accident as he pulled her away from the rubble. She reacted in a sudden burst of uncontrollable anger.

"What the fuck do you think your doing," she growled threateningly. A cloud of dark hair covering her eyes, which flashed red. Her hands balled into fists, her fingers digging so far into her hand she could feel blood trickle slowly down her wrist.

The firefighter took a surprised step back and Brigitte relaxed at the frightened look on his face. Whoa, she wondered, what the hell happened there? He was just trying to keep her away from danger, and she had lashed at him like an, like an..._animal._

Suddenly, the firefighter roughly grabbed her shoulder, and tore her away from the scene, forcing her into the street. He pushed her back, his beady eyes bulging in his pudgy, red face and her thick hands firmly planted on each side of his body, giving her a look that meant hell.

"Get the hell out of here. What do you think your doing? The rubble could have landed farther than expected and killed you. The last thing we need is a snot-nosed teenage prick like you getting us sued. Now leave or I'm calling th police!" He yelled, spittle hitting her on the cheek.

Brigitte mumbled an apology, and then sprinted towards Sam's place. Her bare feet hit the ground with deafening speed, and a chill set itself up her spine, twisting into her veins. She thought she could feel the virus making its way through her body, poisoning her mind with thoughts of murderous rage...she thought she could even feel a knob pressing hard against her back...perhaps her teeth were even beginning to sharpen...

The monkshood wasn't permanent.


	4. Dementia

Disclaimer: I don't own anything and it gets to me every day...

A/N: Please review! Oh and I decided to start naming chapters because it makes it easier for me to remember which is which.

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When Brigitte reached the greenhouse, the sun had found its place in the middle of the sky, with thin clouds placed here and there. She wiped her forehead, and felt a thin layer of sweat and dirt rub off onto her hand. Her boots felt heavy from all the running, and her hair frizzed out over her face. She could feel a couple hot tears push behind her eyes and she quickly blinked them away, adjusting her sunglasses.

As she walked through to the greenhouse towards Sam's door, a figure wrapped in a thick, black scarf ran out of his room, slamming the door behind him (her?). He pushed past her, elbowing her in the side. She fell, hitting the ground.

She felt a curse slip her lips as he exited, and she checked her hands, which were painfully "carpet-burned", before pulling herself up. She made her way to his door, and rapidly knocked on it. Nothing. What had the asshole been doing in there before he had forced past her? Brigitte waited a couple of seconds, knocked again, and heard someone quietly moving inside.

"Sam! Open the door!" The second she finished her words, Sam yanked the door open, exposing a pistol pointed directly into her face. He was a mess of blue and purple. It looked like someone had thrown a blueberry pie in his face after cutting him up with the fork that had planned to eat it with. A large cut bled from underneath his ear and small ones littered his arms and chest, which she could see between the shreds of fabric that remained of his shirt. The cuts had been made with fingernails...pointy fingernails, because they had cut so deep thin lines of crimson were dripping down his arms and off his elbows. She jumped back, shocked at his appearance. And she thought she looked bad.

He threw the pistol down, grimacing, and pushed the door wide in his regular dramatic fashion, gesturing her inside with one arm clenched around his stomach. Brigitte quickly stepped past him, shutting the door behind them.

His room was a wreck of broken furniture and scattered clothes. His drawers had all been flung across the room and his television lay in a broken heap. One of the windows had a large crack in it and bags of pot had been ripped open in all areas of his room, making it smell strongly of blood and weed. Plants had been ripped out of their pots, and soil was everywhere. Sam moved towards his bed, pulled off the remains of his shirt and began rummaging through the leftover drawer. Brigitte gaped.

"What h-happened?" She managed to get out. Sam pulled out a tube of antiseptic from under a pair of khakis and began applying it to his body. Brigitte couldn't help notice the fact that he had some pretty nice pecs for the local drug-dealer. She had trouble tearing her eyes away until she remembered some of Ginger's first symptoms as a lycanthrope: lust. She was changing perhaps even faster than Ginger was, she thought. I have to control myself or I'll lose my head. She tore her eyes away and focused them solely on the antiseptic. _I really am growing up just like you hoped I would Mom. _"Why do you look like crap?" _Why were you pointing a friggin pistol in my face?!_

He crossed to his desk, ignoring the large split it had in its side and the missing leg off the chair, and began to collect the pot and putting it back in the baggies.

"A friend of your sister's has developed some hairy qualities. Jason, right? Why didn't you tell me he was a werewolf?" Brigitte noted the precise way he organized the weed, observing them closely before dropping certain kinds in their correctly labeled bags. "Bastard stole my best stash," he grumbled. Brigitte collapsed on the broken chair, tearing off the sunglasses and massaging her temples. If the monkshood wasn't permanent he was as free to hunt and kill as Ginger was. "I was about to blow your head off when you knocked on the door. I thought he was coming back for another round so I pulled out my dad's old pistol."

"At least he wasn't fully formed. He bumped into me after he left your room, his figure looked human enough, though I didn't get a close look." She trembled slightly. One fully formed lycanthrope was bad enough.

"Are you shitting me? I'd be dead if he was. That pimpled, hairy asshole nearly killed me already. I'm thankful that son of a bitch didn't give me internal bleeding." He pulled out a cigarette from behind his blood-streaked ear and lightly expelled a sigh as he put it between his lips.

"Are you okay though? He looked he got you pretty bad." Sam nodded.

"I wouldn't say I'm perfect, but it could have been worse. I was um, organizing certain items and he knocks on the door. I assume it's you and the second I pull it open his ugly face attacks me. I'll admit I'm not one for physical aggression so he beat the fuck out of me pretty quick. I remember him slamming me into the television and then I woke up, my green house trashed, head spinning, and you banging on the door. He wasn't much of a talker, I don't know exactly what he rushed in here for, but I have a suspicion it wasn't just for a few grams of marihuana." He finished, entwined a hand through his hair, rubbing out the cigarette which had been reduced to cinders. A look of realization crossed Brigitte's face.

"He knows about the monkshood", she felt a headache coming along. "He took it." Sam groaned and jumped up, searching frantically around the room, not really looking, but freaking out.

"This is just great. I forgot all about the monkshood! That dickhead bit me all over the place. I'm going to turn into a werewolf all over again! Brigitte, grab my keys from the potted plant next to the door, we're driving to the nearest craft shop-"

"It doesn't matter."

He gave her a questioning look. Brigitte picked up a pocket knife lying underneath a sock, crusted with blood. Brigitte guessed that Jason hadn't grown into his new fangs just yet and brought it along to help subdue Sam. Sam's face twisted into a look of disgust at memory of the knife and she saw him out of the corner of her eye lightly touch a large wound on his side, reminiscing the knife blade slicing into his skin. She let the blade hover over the skin of her arm, and Sam began to make his way towards her, worried.

"Brigitte, you want to explain what your doing?" He was starting to give her the usual what-the-fuck look, and she pressed the knife to her skin, her face remaining solemn as she sliced a small cut on the side of her wrist. A small bubble of blood formed at the very top of it, and bursted, leaving small trickles of blood to roll of her fingers onto the knife held loosely in her hand. She licked a drop of it off, the taste and smell driving her senses insane.

Sam leaned over her shoulder in amazement, meaning to grab the knife away from her, but gaped when the cut slowly folded over itself, healing the flesh until all that remained was a light purple scar. He grabbed her hand and looked it over, astounded, and jolts of electricity shot through her fingertips. Her mind was beginning to cloud over, and she fought it vigorously. She wasn't going to succumb that easily to temptation. She couldn't end up like Ginger, she had to prove she was stronger.

That didn't change the fact that she felt the feeling of want so intense it made her mouth go dry. She was losing a battle with herself, and if Sam hadn't been so transfixed with her hand he might have noticed she was staring at him with hungry eyes, inhuman eyes. She pushed the feelings away, however, and as the sweat began to form on her neck and her fingers began to dance closer towards Sam she took control of her body, flinging herself off the seat, startling Sam (who had still been heavily transfixed with her healed cut) and moving towards the opposite corner of the room, pacing.

_Too close._

_Too close. _

_Too close._ She had to be careful. In the invisible guidebook to werewolves, the urge to fuck was the first step towards howling at the moon and eating neighborhood pets on a daily basis.

"Sam, where still werewolves," she stated. "The monkshood just holds off the transformation, not every for very long. Look, I'm already growing fingernails. _And wanting to fuck you. _

Ginger would be so proud.

"I kinda got that from looking at your arm, Captain Fucking Obvious." Sam moved towards the unharmed mini-fridge and pulled out a beer. He offered one to Brigitte and she shook her head, her fingers digging into her shirt. He then crossed towards the bed and landed on it. "Brigitte, what the hell are we going to do? He stole all the monkshood! I can't find a fucking speck of it."

"He probably realized that that was the only semi-antidote he had before he transformed completely", she whispered, contemplating. "What I'm confused about is how he found about the monkshood in the first place? It doesn't make sense...I didn't think he was smart enough to figure out what was in the syringe after I stabbed him with it...well I wasn't really focused on him enough to care, I just wanted to see it it worked.," she confessed.

Sam took another gulp of his beer before setting it on the table and leaning against the wall. Brigitte heard the school bell ring off from a distance and she settled herself in a chair.

"The little prick probably learned about in Biology. I can't think of many plants that turn purple when boiled...well excluding red cabbage, I'd love to see him jab some of that shit up his arm." He looked her. "Jason can use the monkshood as long as he fucking wants, but sooner or late his body will reject it and he'll turn fully into a lycanthrope.We have to think about us.

He moved off the bed and kneeled beside her, his fingers grazing the armrest of the chair. He had a frighteningly familiar look on his face...the same look he had given to her when they were hiding in the pantry, and he was asking her to take the syringe and leave Ginger behind. She hated that look.

"Brigitte," he whispered,"we might have to kill ourselves." Brigitte started at him shocked."I can't become a werewolf, to turn out like Ginger and have no control. She almost killed you without giving a damn you were her sister. We don't have that much time left as it is. Do you want to end up like that?!"

Brigitte shook her head. She didn't want to turn out like Ginger, but killing themselves...that was surrender. Their had to be a way. Sam was right, the limbo they had created between humanism and lycanthropy wouldn't last forever. The barrier between the two was already feeling fuzzier to Brigitte. Her thoughts had been getting into a jumbled mess. She thought perhaps she could always hear the sounds of snotty preps from half a mile away, smell cow feces from a farm in the next county. Nothing was making sense, she was traveling between two frequencies.

"Sam, we can't just give up. We'll find a way." She tried to sound encouraging, but her voice feel flat. Sam only nodded slightly at her words, fixated with the cuts on his body, which had began to heal at a past only a tad slower than Brigitte's, solemnly staring at the thin strands of dark fur that covered them. An awkward silence filled the room.

"Sam, is it okay if I sleep in the chair?" he nodded, still focused on the fur beginning to creep up on him. He finally looked up after a couple more seconds of silence. An embarrassed look crept onto his face, turning it a shade of red. Brigitte thought it was almost comical until she realized he was looking at her.

"Brigitte? Uh..."She gestured him to continued, he seemed to have trouble grasping the words. "Your bleeding." She looked down and sure enough, red drops were dripping from underneath her skirt. She was lucky she had all those pads she had taken from home before she left. She was sure she was sharing his tomato look until she noticed something...

"Uh...Sam?"

"What?"

"Your bleeding too." He looked down.

"Aw fuck."


	5. Execution Commentary

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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Brigitte was sitting down to dinner in her house, holding her silverware with mannerisms derived from spending years of her mother nagging and positioning of her knife and fork, lightly slapping her hands if she was caught doing it any other way than what she was told. Her parents sat peacefully across from her, a napkin tucked neatly in her mother's pink dress, her dad still smelling of cigarette smoke. A huge tureen covered nearly the entire table, making the room gleam with the light reflected from it's metal exterior.

She clasped her fingers on the side of the top, meaning to pull it off and expose their great meal, but a light smack from her mother made her place her hands back in her lap. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Brigitte don't touch the food until your sister gets back. She cooked this meal especially for you to celebrate you moving into womanhood, the least you can do is wait until she's returned to eat it," her mother chastised. Brigitte nodded, staring blankly at the floor for the next few minutes, a cold silence falling over the room, interrupted only by the light ticking of her mother's cuckoo clock in the next room.

She heard her sister enter the room and looked up.Ginger was dressed in pale pink, her hair neatly pinned back, her heels clicking on the ground as she strode in, stopping to hug Brigitte. She made no attempt to hug back or return the wide grin that was stretching across Ginger's face, but instead looked down at her own attire, the coat she had gotten at least three winters ago and the pair of boots she had picked up at the local thrift shop.

"I'm so happy for you Brigitte! Now we have even more in common!" Her sister exclaimed. She twirled around, and skipped over to hug her parents as well. The sun was streaming, brighter than ever, from the windows, and Brigitte held up her arm to shield herself from the light that was illuminating the rest of her family so gracefully.

"Well I think it's time now to toast to my sister's good health and happy future," Ginger giggled, returning to her seat to raise her glass. Her parents repeated the action, beaming happily at their daughters. Brigitte's own hands grasped around the cool glass, the sent of strong wine making her dizzy as she gulped it down with the rest of her family. It tasted like blood. She noticed that it had smeared over her family's lips, giving them the appearance of vampires after a particularly rough kill. She brought the glass quietly down from her lips, feeling sick.

"Now, for the main event! Brigitte, to celebrate you growing up, turning into the woman we always knew you'd sooner or later become." Ginger cast a knowing look at her parents, who chuckled. Brigitte returned her gaze to the floor for a few seconds before her sister placed her hands on the edge of the tureen. "I hope you like your dinner" Brigitte curiously looked up as her sister tore off the top, causing her to gasp, knocking over the wine, which spread over the white tablecloth.

"...I cooked it especially for you!"

It was Sam. His arms and legs were bound together with crude lengths of rope, and it haven't been for the large cut on his stomach and the awkward, disturbing position he had been placed in, it would have been as if he was sleeping. His hair contrasted with his pale skin, a joint still stuck behind his ear. Blood pooled underneath him like a sickening sort of barbecue sauce, and an apple had been stuffed roughly in his mouth, completing the grotesque picture.

Brigitte felt the vomit climb up her throat immediately and threw up, puke spewing all over her parent's freshly cleaned carpet. She looked up, expecting to see their shocked faces of disgust. Instead, her father pulled out his knife and fork, and her mother took another sip of wine, cheery expressions still stapled on both of their faces. Ginger smiled radiantly, her pearly whites still stained with the red of the wine.

"Brigitte, want the first bite? I'll cut off any part you want, just for you." Brigitte, horrified looked up at her sister, noticing for the first time the bloodstains on Ginger's blouse, dripping off the helm of her skirt. She stood, transfixed, at her sister's appearance. "Well come on Brigitte, I don't have all day!

Was it just Brigitte, or was her sister's hair entwined with gray strands? Her parents faced her, tilting their heads, waiting for her response. Was it just her, or did they seem to have fangs? They moved towards her, stepping out of their chairs slowly, faces becoming hairy, skin stretching, ripping, and reforming as they crawled closer. They climbed over the table, pushing Sam's decaying body aside, more wine spilling over the table, blood dripping from their lips. She could feel Ginger's smirk as their hands groped at her, pulling at her hair, ripping pieces off Sam to force down her throat. Brigitte put her hands over her ears, shaking her head furiously. 

"I don't want any!"

"I don't want any!"

"I DON'T WANT ANY!"

At that moment, a darkness began to fall over the room as her family closed in on her, and she cast a glance at Sam's body, and horrified, watched him slowly turn his head towards her, bones sticking out of his neck, eyes rolled into the back of his head, blood streaked across his face. His mouth opened and, although Brigitte's shrieking should have been enough to surpass any noise for the next mile or so, his voice echoed across the room, pounding her eardrums with his voice, the blood in her veins turning to ice.

"C'mon Brigitte, what part do you want?"

-----

Brigitte jerked awake, sitting up straight, her body enclosed in a cold sweat, the words still echoing madly in her head. The air itself was freezing, and she quickly realized she was no longer in the greenhouse. The comfort of Sam's grubby chair had disappeared, and was replaced with cold pavement, darkness, and the disappearance of most of Brigitte's clothes.

As if her life could get much worse. She should have guessed at one point she would be left out only in her bra and underwear in the middle of the street, having no idea how she got there and how it could have gotten dark so quickly. Brigitte attempted to recalculate what had happened. It had barely been afternoon when she had fallen back asleep, exhausted. That much came back to her. The entire chapter of her life where she stripped and passed out in the middle of an empty street in god knows where was lost to her. Being a soon-to-be werewolf was sure having disadvantages, now she was randomly sleepwalking?! She checked her body, grateful that their was no blood under her fingernails. I haven't killed anyone yet, she thought, relieved. The 'yet' brought back her fear and anxiety. 

She pulled herself up, thankful for the first time that her mother had convinced to finally buy her first bra last summer. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she realized she was somewhere in her old neighborhood, a couple of blocks from her...er, the burnt pile of rubble she used to call home. A streetlight shone dimly up the next block and she made her way towards it, briefly pushing the vivid nightmare out of her mind, eyes darting around nervously. Knowing the people who lived in Bailey Downs, one was bound to call the cops if they saw a girl walking around in her underwear in the middle of the night.

As she reached the streetlight, furiously attempting to cover herself up with her arms, she noticed a gang of older teenagers sitting beneath it, familiar seniors from her highschool. They were laughing hysterically about something, and Brigitte could smell the alcohol and pot from a mile away. She stayed on her side of the street, praying that she could make her way unnoticed. These were not the type of you confronted, they were heavy into the drugs, and horribly unpredictable. A couple had been in jail, and she remembered reading in the papers about Strider, the gang's notorious leader, sending some kid to the hospital last year with so many bruises he was classified as a shade of purple. Not even Trina Sinclair would have associated herself with these psychos.

She had almost reached the end of the street when she stepped on a rather large leaf. The crunch was just loud for all four of their heads to turn around and notice her. She considered making a run for it, but couldn't see what good it could do. If they wanted to catch her, they could easily succeed. She kept her eyes to the ground, ignoring their catcalls, unaware over their loud giggling that Strider had crossed the street.

He appeared in front of her, his rancid breath so close to her face it caused her eyes to turn watery. His hair was shoulder length and dirty blonde, and he brushed it put of his face, grinning maliciously. She felt him grab her by the shoulders and pull her close, his leather jacket chaffing against her skin uncomfortably. She attempted to back away, push him off her, but his grip was too strong, and he easily dragged her back toward the others.

"Hey guys, Strider grabbed us some entertainment!" They all hooted, hidden in their smoke-clouded oasis.

"Get off me...fucking...,"she yelled, words muffled by the jacket. He laughed and pushed her towards them, and she felt their arms wrap themselves around her waist, legs, and arms, pulling her to the ground. Her knees scraped painfully against the street's rocky surface and she was sickened by the feeling of their hands all over her, _touching_ her.

"Baby, if you expect to walk around like _that_ you can't help what the big boys do to you." His comment unnerved her, and she struggled harder against them, especially after one snapped her bra strap. Strider leaned over to a nearby six pack, pulled one out and handed it too her, speaking to her in a voice raspy and coated with lust. "Make this easier on yourself bitch. Have a beer." He patted her head mockingly, and Brigitte felt a wave of anger rise inside her. She responded by spitting in his face.

His drunken expression was replaced by one of fury, and he quickly wiped the spit off his cheek, while his friends howled from behind her, unknowingly loosening their grip on her. Brigitte began to feel empowered, realizing that her werewolf side was staying quiet for smaller chunks of time. She weakly attempted to fight her impending rage, but the human side no longer held any advantage. It was either eat or be eaten, and the wolf in her had decided to take over the current situation. Strider, meanwhile, had finished violently cursing out his pack and returned to her, face red and exploding with delirium.

"Think you can get the best of me bitch?" He punched her hard in the stomach, but Brigitte felt nothing. Her body had become numb, hot, inhuman blood bubbling in her veins. He repeated the action, this time aiming the blow in her face. She felt her nose crack, blood spurting all over herself. She remained quiet, losing the fight in regressing her change.

Strider roughly pulled her up by the shoulders, ripping her out of the hands of his buddies. "I was gonna make this fun for you, but I guess you just like it better rough. Lucky for you, so do I." His nails dug into her skin, causing tiny crescent-shaped marks to form, filling with blood. She no longer struggled, and smiled lightly at him as he gaped at the marks on her skin, not quite drunk or stoned enough to grasp the idea of them disappearing completely seconds after he had inflicted the damage.

"W-what the f-fuck..." His friends, unaware of what was going on, looked up curiously, confused at the look on his face. At the same time Brigitte leaned over, looking as though she might kiss him, before leaning over and biting him on the right side of his neck, fangs springing into action. They jabbed deep into his skin, blood squirting in all directions. He wailed in pain, clutching his neck, blood seeping furiously from between his fingers. Brigitte softly ran a finger down his face, now contorted with pain.

"What's wrong _baby_, I thought you liked it rough?" She smirked, licking her lips clean of blood, savoring the metallic taste. He collapsed, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Strider's friends began to scatter, leaping to their feet, horrified. Brigitte closed in on one of them, the last of the three to get themselves on their feet. He screeched as she quickly slashed his arm with her nails, sharp as five little pocket knives, turning it into instant shreds, before he desperately wrenching it out of her grasp, disappearing into the darkness to join his screaming pals. The only one left was Strider, pale and unmoving on the pavement. Brigitte wiped more blood off the side of his neck, before sticking her fingers in her mouth, sucking them slowly.

"I think I'll take that beer now." She leaned down and pulled the beer out of his fist, before popping off the top and downing in one gulp. All inhibitions gone, she exited, firmly crushing Strider's face with the heel of her boat, swishing her hips as she left the dark street, one thought rising to the top of her mind, now distorted with wickedness.

I think I'll go find Sam.


	6. Burning

Disclaimer: I don't own Ginger Snaps or its characters.

A/N: I once again apologize for the tardiness of my updates.

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The glow of the moon reflected onto the tops of the trees surrounding the school, creeping across the concrete floor to form a small path towards the greenhouse. The main building was covered in a light frost, the air whistling through cracked windows and broken shingles. The eerie silence that hung in the air was thick, broken only by a bird's chirp, echoing unnaturally. Bailey Downs was no longer a place where the local teenagers was smoke pot lovingly behind the school at midnight, escaping their mediocre fears and pressures. Now they hide in their homes, fearful of the real monsters that lurked in the night.

Then, a dark figure emerged from underneath the nearest streetlight, moving slowly and deliberately toward the greenhouse. Her hair obscured her face from view, gray strands of hair overtaking her natural brown. Her dark coat was stained with even darker blood, but none of it was her own, and it left small puddles behind her as she walked, the helm of her plaid skirt dragging behind her, ripped to near shreds.

Brigitte pushed the white door to the greenhouse open, striding past the assorted plants and such, a hand tracing lazily over the leaves. Her eyes were clouded with hunger, fueled with blood and lust and hate. She flipped her hair back, feeling more powerful than she could have ever had remembered. The awkward teenager that had feared others and kept herself mentally handcuffed to her sister had disappeared, replaced by a being that had more knowledge of real terror, and better yet, how to feed and control it.

She lightly tapped on Sam's door, her nails so sharp they dented the chipped white paint. She heard him jump up and rush towards the door, flinging it open. Brigitte noted, a smirk playing on her face, that he looked even worse than before. He was covered with even more reddish pimples, his hair was coated with sweat, and she thought she noticed the glint of sharp teeth as he frowned, taking in her appearance.

"W-where the fuck were you?" He looked worried, and gestured quickly for her to come inside. She strode past him, lightly brushing up against him as she moved, sitting calmly in the nearest chair, crossing her legs suggestively.

"I looked for you everywhere, I figured the police had dragged you away..." He went towards the fridge, pulled out a water, and handed it to her. Brigitte grasped the bottle, her fingers grazing his hand as she moved back. He took no notice, and began pacing around the room. "Well? What happened? Where were you?" He gestured at the red stains adorning her clothes.

"Having fun. You should try it sometime, instead of spending all day getting fucked up in a greenhouse." He faced her, and she felt his eyes read her, trying to discover what had actually happened. The silence in the room was deafening, a breeze lightly tickling the striped curtains as the sun just began to rise over the horizon. His expression was hit with a jolt of realization as his eyes traveled back to the blood on her skirt and coat. His frown turned to a look of horror.

"Brigitte, did you _hurt_ someone?" She nodded, giggling. Sam backed up aganist the wall, letting out a frustrated groan. Brigitte responded by moving from the chair and crossing towards him, giving a mysterious, wicked grin.

"You don't have to be such a worrywart, I don't _think_ I killed him. I just gave him a few cuts and bruises to complain about when the paramedics arrive. I guess he could bleed to death before anyone finds him -" She broke off, smiling broadly. Sam looked genuinely frightened off her, it was horribly entertaining for her to watch. "Aw, what's wrong? Want a taste?" She held a hand out towards him, dried blood decorating her thumb and index finger. She saw the smallest flicker of yearning cross his eyes, before they refocused and he shook his head furiously, as if he could eventually shake away his unwanted desires.

"Your acting like Ginger." His voice echoed across the room, and Brigitte felt an unwelcome shiver make its way down her spine. Why did she always have to be compared to her sister? Shaking it away, she stepped towards him, causing Sam to back into the wall.

"See, that's the thing about sisters..." She smiled knowingly, his breath tickling her face. Was it just her or did she see a flash of red dance across his eyes? "We're close."

He made another wasted attempt on evading her actions.

"Brigitte, your acting unlike yourself...It's the lycanthrope inside you, it's mastering your feelings and emotions. Remember what happened to Ginger...?"

"Yeah, she had a hell of a lot more fun then me when she caught the virus. Why can't we?" She leaned into him, her nose grazing his neck ever so softly as she took in his smell, which was strongly composed of blood. She felt the inhuman craving run through her veins like poison. Sam arched his head back, a sigh escaping his lips, but still refusing to lift his palms off the wall. They were so tightly fastened Brigitte doubted even her advanced strength could tear them from that spot.

"Brigitte, this is wrong. You can't let it control you...you have to-"

Brigitte stopped the nonsensical babbling by pressing her lips against Sam's. It was just a brief, tongue-less kiss, but it had Sam pulling away from her, wiping his lips wildly as he moved sideways, backing himself into the dresser. His arm skidded over the surface, causing papers to flutter onto the floor.

She watched curiously as he stood, his eyes fixated on the dark carpeting, a raging battle taking place inside him. Mixed feelings rushed through Sam's features like the pages of a book. His fists clenched and unclenched, and his eyes darkened with either anger or arousal, it was impossible for Brigitte to tell. She decided to push a little harder, hoping he would cave for her animalistic wants.

"Sam..." She ran her fingernails down his arms, causing red marks to fade as quickly as they had appeared on his skin. Sam's bangs obscured his face, and he was breathing heavily as Brigitte encircled his wrists with her thin, pale fingers, holding him aganist the wall. Brigitte daringly pressed into him once more, and with a sudden smirk and hint of glee, felt his resistance drop.

Kissing her furiously, he stopped the snickers she had let escape, and replaced them with breathless moans. They remained in the corner between the dresser and the wall for several seconds, molding into one another. She looked into his eyes, which gleamed onyx, a thin line of burgundy surrounding his pupils. He looked almost insanely angry, adding to her satisfaction. She had managed to completely release his werewolf side with a couple well-placed fingers and words. Brigitte grinded up against him, feeling him wiggle against the wall, his warm breath burning her skin as he kissed her again and again. Sam tugged at her hands, trying to break from the vice-like grip as his tongue hungrily explored her mouth.

He broke free with a growl, steadily pushing Brigitte back as the room become more incommodious. The back of her legs hit the edge of the bed, and with a forceful shove provided by Sam, felt her body topple backwards onto the cheap sheets, his own collapsing on top of her. She flushed, looking obliquely at him, desire only heightened further still by the movement of body against body, his erection pressed firmly against her thigh.

Hands adventured from the sides of Sam to roughly claw at his waist, digging her fingers under the band of his pants. She was unconcerned with the fact that his chewed and jagged nails were scraping over her shirt, causing deep cuts in the already torn fabric. They were gasping into each others mouths in a flurry of hungry hands, failing at anything that would be considered a half-decent kiss. It was quickly descending into an erotic mess of loose tongues and saliva, eyes burning in the darkness, their breathe heavy and harsh, adding a roughness to each exhalation.

The room was alight with the sun slowly rising over the frigid night, small beams of sunshine hitting the bed from the window. He tore off the remains of her shirt, making her giggle, a frightening sound that echoed around the room. Clothes were shredded and thrown, and all that could be heard were labored breaths and brief howls, causing neighbors to sit in their beds, ears twitching at the noises, wondering just how distorted their little haven in the world had become.

-----

The smell of Ginger woke Brigitte up, scorching through her senses like wildfire, her eyes springing open, her nose sniffing frantically. It was so powerful, she could feel her sister everywhere. The red slits of her eyes surveyed the room suspiciously, but sensed the thick, overwhelming smell coming from outside.

She advanced slowly from the bed, careful not to wake Sam as she pried his arm from around her waist, wiping locks of messy hair from her brow. Pain spread over her shoulder and neck as she moved, and upon closer inspection from the mirror closet to the bed, she saw her upper body adorned with various cuts and bruises. _I knew he'd like it rough,_ she snickered, glancing at Sam, who was curled up under the covers. His mouth hung open as he snored, various gashes also decorating his body. Brigitte fluidly pulled on a pair of jeans from the nearby drawer and slipped on a t-shirt, quietly disappearing out into the late afternoon to follow the scent, giving Sam one last glimpse as she vanished from the room, leaving him to roll over uncomfortably, his sleeping form searching uselessly for her body to cling onto while he slept.

She had no further need of him.

The sun was bright, and she placed an arm over her head, shielding her eyes as she stepped outside. _Why would Ginger come__in the middle of the daytime? _She had not quite reached the total sensations of being a werewolf, but for reasons unknown, the thick beams of sunlight were making her queasy. She longed to find a dark corner to curl up in, perhaps even throwing some meaty bones in the mix, allow her something to gnaw on while she relaxed. But the remaining shreds of the human life force in her body still tugged at her, she needed to see a last glimpse of her sister in order to finally surrender to the madness that still wrapped itself around her soul.

She followed the smell for a long time, her heightened senses spinning as it got thicker and thicker. Brigitte was finally led to the scene where the horror all began: the playground where Ginger had been bitten. No children hung from the monkey bars, or galloped noisily on the fake animals hustled on springs. The blue paint on the slide was fading and the old, cracked wood looked ready to collapse. The place was a little twisted children's ghost town. She tilted her head, a gust of air coming from the nearby forest alerting her senses. _Ginger. _She was inside the woods, she could smell her so well it was as if she had been sitting beside her. She caught a whiff of her blood and hair, stained with the faintest scent of whatever had made her Ginger once human.

"_It's almost as if we're not even related anymore..."_

The wind rippled through the trees, sending shivers up her spine. Brigitte made her way eagerly towards the gloomy oaks, her childish fear of the tall trees and dark bushes disappearing with her excitement. She would find Ginger, and they would remain inseparable. It would be just like old times, except they would be powerful, indestructible, fearless. People would avoid their presence or suffer the consequences as the tore the world in two, together again. Her thoughts spun wildly in her head, lifting her spirts to soaring heights...

Then she heard a noise. It sounded like the high pitched squeaks and cracks a little boy's voice would make if he attempted a laugh during the early stages of puberty. She swept around, coat billowing in the heavy wind. A figure, hunched over the swings, was giggling, the sounds erupting madly from his throat. A familiar scarf wrung around his neck, and he pointed at her, his finger beckoning her to come closer, his insane twittering still echoing in the air.

Jason._ Ugh. That miserable twat, what the hell does he want now? _

His sickening odor clouded her brain, leaving her irritated. She crept slowly across the pavement, leaves crunching under her feet as she advanced, growling. He pushed back and forth on the swing, rising slowly, the nails on his feet brushing lightly against the ground. Her growls escalated as a few more giggles burstfrom his throat. _Why was he still laughing? _Then she caught a whiff of Ginger. It stunk heavily on his clothes. Brigitte had considered simply settling the matter of him by ripping into his skull and tearing out his eyeballs, but now she stood before him, perplexed and furious, but unable to fight. _Why does he smell like Ginger? _

"How ya doing Brigitte? Wanna join me for lunch?" She looked closer, realizing that he had a mangled rabbit in his lap, the head completely ripped off. Jason leaned forward, taking a large bite of the rabbit's middle, his mouth coming up bloody, specks of white hair mixing in with various organs, making his appearance all the more disgusting. Brigitte licked her lips for only a second, ignoring the pang of hunger in her stomach. Perhaps after this was settled she'd find a neighborhood cat to snack on.

"Where the fuck is Ginger? You should be dead, I smell her anger all over you." He was coated in her fury, and anyone close enough to such an angry lycanthrope shouldn't be alive. She felt a bubble of agitation form in her throat."Tell me or I'll tear your limbs off." He clapped his hands loudly at this statement, a maniacal grin still plastered on his face.

"Aw, is Brigitte upset? No monkshood to calm those urges, eh? I'll help you work on some of the more entertaining ones, if you like."He gave her a devious smile, raising his eyebrows suggestively. She spat at his feet, teeth bared.

"Why the hell are you acting like this anyway? Didn't you take loads of monkshood to slow the transformation down? You look more like shit than usual." Jason's face immediately darkened, and he pulled the sleeve of his jacket up, wincing as the fabric grazed his skin. Brigitte peered over the space between them. The underside of his arm was littered with injection marks, and they were all red, strange puss and blood oozing unnaturally out of the dark holes. Her eyes widened in shock. Sam and her had been right, bodies rejected the supposed antidote as larger amounts were added.

"It stopped working." She sensed the shiver of fear that ran through his body. He may have been acting cocky as a way to intimidate her, but he didn't truly want to become a werewolf. He was still resisting the change that swept through their bodies, the change Brigitte now embraced and awaited. "That's where you come in."

She cocked her head up at him. His eyes burned a hole through her skin, but she refused to drop her gaze.

"I don't know one. And neither does Sam. I guess you'll just have to stick with being ugly and hairy...luckily your already ugly, so it shouldn't be much of a shock when the hairy part come in." The swing slowed to a stop, his feet grazing the ground, all the playfulness gone from his eyes.

"Listen here you bitch. I don't have much time left. The monkshood is useless, and I don't want to turn a furry freak like Ginger. I know Sam can come up with something else to fix it, so you better fucking find it."

Brigitte frowned. Jason was obviously desperate to the point of lunacy. Their was no way that Sam could find something, even if it did exist, in the time left allotted to Jason before he transformed. He was doomed. They were all doomed. She just wished those fuckers could get over it and move on, accept the incredibleness of which they were presented.

"Why the hell would I help you? Go find yourself a freaking cure." She turned away, preparing to vanish into the forest to recover the scent of her lost sister, when she remember it was all over Jason. She spun towards him. "What did you do to my sister?"

The grin was back on Jason's face. _I wish I could tear it off. _

"Ah, caught on have you? You see I just happened to have this large ditch outside of my father's cabin in the woods and Ginger just happened to take a fall in it yesterday while she was out roaming the wild. Now what do you say to finding that cure? Save yourself the problem of burying your sister?"

Brigitte's eyes looked over the woods, looking searchingly over the large mass of green. Her sister was in there somewhere, angry and alone, lying literally in a ditch. It looked as though this was going to be a bit more of a pain in her ass than she expected.

"Whose to say I don't just stroll down to you fucking cabin and get Ginger without giving you your special cure?" She crossed her arms, sharp nails tapping lightly on the skin of her shoulders, he features alight with rage. How dare that idiot capture her sister.

At that Jason reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a pistol. Brigitte backed up instinctively. She knew werewolves weren't invincible, and wasn't going to pretend so. Rays of sunshine shone through the bleak clouds to reflect threateningly off the shiny dark metal, causing the hairs to bristle on the nape of her neck. Jason stood up and out of the swing set, raising it up towards her, Brigitte's eyes fixated on the dark barrel of the gun, his finger hovering over the trigger teasingly.

"I don't think you fancy testing that newfound speed of your against this, huh? Besides, I'm faster than you without the advantages of a gun. One of the perks of being nearer to a lifetime of eating puppies and licking your own dick." He turned away from her, disgust framing his features."I want it tonight. I don't think I have any longer. Bring plant-boy with you, I won't trust the results if you're the only one who finds them-"

"I'm telling you dickhead, there is no cure-"

"Then I'll personally kill Ginger in the most torturous way I can think of, whilst you sit around and make goo-goo eyes with he-who-loves-pumpkins. I can do it, that bitch is the one that forced me into this mess. That stupid, slutty-" He cut off, his eyes returning to focus, checking his watch."You have until midnight, or she dies." Brigitte rolled her eyes. Jason was a walking cliche. Their was nothing she could do now though, she didn't trust her speed versus that of a bullet, and she didn't want Ginger to die. She had to regroup, figure out her actions, delay the delicious feeling of wickedness that threatened to devour her system until she sorted this ridiculous but still potentially dangerous mess out.

"Fine, whatever. See you at midnight." Brigitte turned around, briskly exiting the playground, leaving Jason to his own homicidal thoughts as he drifted amongst the deserted wood chips. The pavement slapped under he feet as she passed a little girl on her way to the playground. She had a jump rope in curled neatly in one fist and a heat-shaped face, blond hair curtaining it angelically. Brigitte noticed Jason eyeing her hungrily, licking this lips in anticipation as her light-up shoes changed colors with every skip of her feet. Brigitte, feeling slightly repulsed, grabbed the little girl by the hood of her pink jacket and spun her around, her twinkling blue eyes widening in surprise.

"See that guy over there?" Brigitte pointed at Jason, who scowled at her, realizing what she had done. The little girl, paralyzed with fear, nodded quickly. "He wants to rip your heart out and chew on it like it's a stick of bubble-gum. Now go home." She promptly let go of the girl's hood, and watched her take off back to wherever she came from , her innocent features disappearing as she turned a corner. Brigitte turned back towards Jason, a leer alighting her face, but realized he had vanished back into the forest, the only trace of him being the vacant swing set, moving slowly in the wind.

The next time she saw Jason, she'd make sure he got what he deserved for trapping her sister, she thought bitterly. She'd make him pay in blood. But first she had to have a plan.


End file.
